


Black and Silver

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Maeglin survives somehow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 12:37:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1744877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maeglin and Celebrimbor are the Lords of Eregion, building a new world in memory of the houses of Fëanor and Fingolfin but also a world which is very much their own. They are perfect opposites, black and silver, but they have a lot in common too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black and Silver

**Author's Note:**

> This ties into my story "Someone You Will Never Meet", set in the Halls of Mandos, in which Vairë shows a dead Maeglin how his life could have gone differently. This is the version of his life he sees in the vision.

"What’s wrong, Maeglin?" Celebrimbor went to the sideboard, shrugging off his heavy ceremonial mantle as he went, rich with embroidery. He took the cover off the lampstone, poured Maeglin a glass of wine, planted it firmly in his hands, then poured one for himself, before cocking his head expectantly. 

"Nothing."

"Liar." Celebrimbor could always tell. 

Maeglin said nothing, standing awkwardly in the centre of the room, sipping his wine. “Nothing’s wrong. That council went well.”

Celebrimbor stood up circling around Maeglin and slipping his arms around the younger’s shoulders. They were close in height, although Celebrimbor was a shade taller. “Well, yes. It’s a beginning. We’ll have much to learn from the Khazad. I would ask you to help me improve my Khuzdul, but…”

Maeglin smiled ruefully, taking another sip of wine before setting his glass down. “… _but_ , my Khuzdul is a mixture of drinking songs, names of minerals and a variety of insulting terms for Sindarin marchwardens, picked up when I travelled with my father as a boy. Hardly what I would call diplomatic.”

Celebrimbor laughed. “That’s a start.” He stood behind Maeglin, running his finger along the thick raised embroidery on his shoulders of Maeglin’s mantle. Silver embroidery, the thread thick and rich, shining in the blue-white light of the lampstone. Silver on black, no colour, but embroidered with many intricate designs. The holly, the mole, the eight-pointed star and the sigil of the house of Fingolfin. Geometric patterns, swords, hands, the anvil, the white tower.  _Like constellations set in a dark sky, but these are our constellations. Our world. Not theirs._

Celebrimbor’s own mantle, lying across the arm of the chair, was the twin to Maeglin’s, although his was black stitching on silver cloth, a perfect opposite.

He wrapped his arms about Maeglin’s chest, chin falling forwards onto a shoulder from behind. Their hair mingled, black and blacker. Maeglin raised his jaw, turning his head to look at Celebrimbor.

"Ruling was never really…" he began.

"…your speciality? Nor mine. Sometimes I wish I had fallen into obscurity with my family name, working at a quiet little forge at inconsequential projects until this world ends."

Maeglin twisted his body, extricating himself from Celebrimbor’s arms. “Liar. That’s not what you want. You never even considered it as an option.”

"No more than you did."

Maeglin’s mouth twisted in a smile, and he turned to push Celebrimbor down into his armchair, standing above him and placing a many-ringed hand under his chin, lifting his face. “You’re right of course.” He gritted his teeth. “You’re always so maddeningly right.” He leaned forward and kissed him, even as Celebrimbor rose from the chair, sending them both lurching across the room, entwined in each other’s arms but still somehow managing to stay upright.

Finally they broke apart, and Celebrimbor smirked, carrying on the conversation as though nothing had happened. “I like to think it’s my speciality.”


End file.
